(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

"The chief's just like that. Sure he stirs stuff up but we end up doing more
good than harm... intentional or not."
Annah snarled and turned to Dak'kon, "Well? Don't ye have anythin' to say?"
Dak'kon merely gave Annah a passive glance and said nothing, returning to
his meditation. The smooth sound of Karach sharpening and flowing helped
soothe my troubles.
I had set the box on the rickety end-table earlier and examined it. It was a
small wooden cube, with intricate designs etched into its surface. At one
time it would've been worthy enough to be displayed at any aristocrat's
estate, but over the years neglect had taken its toll and the thing was falling
apart: wood was creaking and splintering, the hinges were rusted, and the
gold finish was flaking away. If not for the large ruby mounted to the front of
the box, it'd be worthless. Thinking better of it, I set the box down carefully
and slid it under the bed.
While the ruby glittered with a comforting shine when the light hit it just
right, the box itself seemed to emanate feelings of dread. Soon after I had
accepted it I could bear to hold it no longer, and bought a sack packed with
rags to hold the damn thing. Mar's box made the bronze sphere seem like a
ball of smelly yarn in comparison.
"Bloody addle-coves," Annah growled, "The Nine Hells can have ye, I'm not
restin' me eyes next to yer thrice-damned souls." With a flick of her tail
Annah strode towards the other end of the bunkhouse and took a bed
there.
"We've been through worse, right?" I said, looking to my remaining two
companions.
Morte was embarrassingly silent. Dak'kon continued to stare at his blade,
shifting between fluid and black chaos-steel.
"...Right."
~~~~~
Moving from crate to crate, the sole worker in the warehouse seemed to be
totally immersed in counting boxes and scribbling results down on a piece of
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